Control
by junealondra
Summary: He's nothing like her, she's nothing like him. - Just a short drabble about how opposites attract.


A/N: Howdy ya'll! In case you're keeping track, this is part of the ongoing prompt challenge I'm having with my two wonderful ladies **Bruhaeven **and **LeRequiem**. We've kinda gotten lazy since the summertime is over (which means real life getting in the way of fanciful adventures) but, meh.

Without further ado, here is my short drabble-y piece I wrote for September's prompt.

**Prompt: Control Freak.**

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><p><em>Her.<em>

She is perfect, if there is such a thing.

I rush into class late, and already she is there, sitting front and center, three long quills laying straight in a row next to a pristine, black inkpot; a roll of parchment is ready, and her hands are folded softly on top of the desk, not quite resting, but not tense either.

A book falls out of my bag as I try and shove my way past a few unhappy classmates as I make my way to the only remaining seat which is, of course, wedged in a corner and impossibly difficult to get to.

It clatters to the ground, and as I'm reaching to pick it up, some quills join it on the floor and my own sticky jar of ink rolls out of the bag and towards the front of the room.

The tiny half-goblin, perched on a stack of books, stops the lesson and waits, with a look of disdain, for me to collect my things.

Everyone turns to look.

Some are laughing, some are glaring, and some are just bored, watching only because it's a break from the monotony.

Heat boils under my skin, and I'm sure I'm a nasty shade of maroon.

Damn that ginger flush.

Everyone is staring.

Everyone but her.

I think perhaps I see her brown hair twitch a bit to the left, like she's about to look – but she doesn't.

I sigh.

I mumble an incomprehensible apology to the professor who's beginning to look more and more like a goblin and less and less like the cheerful man we're used to, and I rush to the open chair, my things nearly falling once again.

The lesson goes on, but I don't hear a word.

I look down at my own stained, crinkled parchment, chipped and ratty quills, and my hands, which are dotted with sticky black ink from the leaky jar.

I'm nothing like her.

We don't belong together.

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><p><em>Him<em>.

I walk into the Great Hall, and he's already there. He can't make it to class on time for the life of him, but meals are another thing.

He's got two dirty dishes in front of him, littered with the remains of his first two servings, even as he moves onto a third heaping plate of food.

I watch, half-disgusted, as he shoves a huge spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. His cheeks bulge as he tries, quite unsuccessfully, to chew. And then he looks up.

His eyes find mine, briefly, and I see him turning red as I quickly look away, gazing down at the open textbook I'm holding.

I move towards the table where he sits with Harry, keeping my eyes glued to the pages of the Potions text in front of me.

As I come closer, I realize what a mess he is.

There are bits of food surrounding his place at the table. His glass of milk sits in a small puddle where he must have spilled some before. He has too many utensils and not enough napkins, and his Potions essay, already spoiled by a few greasy fingerprints, lies dangerously close to the pool of milk.

" 'ullo, 'ermin-ey' "

He greets me with a mouthful of some half-consumed food, and struggles to keep it all inside as he smiles.

I don't want to smile back, but somehow I do. I can't help it.

I don't need this mess in my life. I don't _want_ this mess in my life.

But something inside of me says otherwise.

I want to be wanted, and he wants to want me. I can see it in his eyes, and I can only hope that he can't see it in mine.

My life is ordered, and I don't need grease stains, cookie crumbs, and inky hands mucking it up.

I try to convince myself we don't belong together.

I've got to stay in control.

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><p><em>post-read:<em>

_I hope you all liked! I wasn't really sure I liked it when I wrote it (which is why I'm just now posting it, even though I wrote it in September) but it's been growing on me ever so slightly. _

_Of course, I'd love to know what YOUUUUU all thought, so please post some love (or hate) via the review button below! TTFN._

_ps. check out **Bruhaeven** and **LeRequiem**. for real - they are crazy talented. _


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